Fallen
by I'vebeenLOKI'Dyetagain
Summary: After Bucky falls from the train, Steve searches the ravine for him, determined to save him. Tragic first chapter where Steve doesn't find him, with an extended, hopeful AU second chapter where Steve does find Bucky (and he's alive).
1. Fallen

**So I know I have a Captain America chapter fic I'm currently working on, but I read "Captain America: Man Out Of Time" today and the Feels quite nearly levelled me, because DA BROMANCE BETWEEN STEVE AND BUCKY KFDJSLFJDSKLJFDKLSJF**

**So then I figured that if Steve would be willing to mess up the time stream to try and save Bucky, that he would go look for Bucky after he fell from the train...**

** All this is is pure Feels. (****And I just wrote this today in a rush really fast and I haven't edited it, so there's probably typos.)**

* * *

"_BUCKY NO!" _Steve was screaming, as the dark figure of his best friend fell away, down, down, down...

"_NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

The scream was wrenched unconsciously from Steve's throat like a nightmare, gouging and clawing and shrieking bloody over his tongue, and he wasn't even aware of the noise leaving him, only the feeling of his heart pulsing and bleeding out like it was being riddled with bullets by a tommy gun, and all the warmth leaving his body.

Down that figure fell, a black speck disappearing into a void of white, down out of Steve's sight.

And as he clutched to the side of that door, himself hanging precariously over the canyon, Steve's eyes scrunched close against the tears that were pounding against the backs of his eyelids, and his head fell forward against the cold metal of the door, chin scrunching as the realization that Bucky was _gone _flooded through his veins with a frigid winter chill that bit like wolves' teeth.

Clutching onto that door, the thought fleeted across his mind that he could let go. He could fall after Bucky, fall after his best friend, because they always said that when they went, they would go down together.

They would go down together.

And in a way, they did, because there was an emptiness in Steve as the horror bled off like adrenalin and all he was left with was a cold feeling of absence in his chest, because Bucky had pulled a larger-than-life part of Steve down with him.

It was never supposed to be like this, _it was never supposed to... _

The tears were blown from Steve's cheeks by the howling wind that danced and yipped mockingly about him as the train sped on.

He could try to get back inside the train, but if he let go to grab another hold, he knew that he wouldn't find one. If he let go, he wouldn't have the strength to grab back on.

And there was a part of him that wanted that, but there was a part of him that in a commanding voice was telling him that he was Captain America and Captain America couldn't die because he had a world to save.

And the other part of him thought that that was hardly fair.

The sky had fallen—what world was there left? Bucky was gone—

_That's not the end of the world_, the Captain said.

_It should be, _thought the kid from Brooklyn.

_Captain America is a hero—_

_No he's not. Bucky is a hero; Bucky's my hero. And I __**couldn't save him.**_

He didn't even realize that the train had stopped until somebody was speaking to him, coaxing him back inside the train from where he was still clinging to the door, and he opened his eyes but he still didn't see anything _(except white, so much white and that black figure falling away, smaller and smaller and smaller) _as someone guided him back onto the train, hands on his shoulders.

And it was like Steve was disconnected from his body as he was for once not doing the leading and was being led back to the rendezvous point, and there were the Howling Commandos _(but no Bucky)_.

"Captain?" Dougan asked. "Are you alright? Where's Bucky?"

"He fell," said Steve, and his eyes were starting to clear, but the world wasn't. "I need to find him. I need to go back—"

"I can't allow you to do that," said the General. "Nobody could have survived that fall—"

"If anyone could, it's Bucky," Steve said, and in his voice there was no doubt, just tons and tons of _hope. _"I thought he was dead once before, but he lived. Everyone else who'd been put through what he was died, but _Bucky lived." _

The General sighed. "Even if he _was _alive, it would be only for a few moments, you wouldn't be able to save him."

"But at least he wouldn't die alone," Steve said, and he wasn't crying but there were tears frozen to his cheeks. "And even if he _is _dead, I can at least bring back his body. If Bucky has indeed died, then he deserves a funeral. A gravestone. A marker—"

"You can't go look for him," the General said. "That's an order."

Steve's gaze hardened, blue eyes like diamonds, like sharp shards of ice catching the light. "I wasn't asking for your permission."

And then he left, and nobody dared try to stop him.

There was a rope, and he used it to scale the cliff side into the ravine, and snow was falling gently now over everything like it was trying to cover all traces of any tragedy that had taken place here.

But it didn't stop Steve from searching—didn't stop Steve from scouring every square foot of the ravine, and not the snow nor the river nor the wind could stop him.

Time was of no consequence, hazy as sleep, and it could have been minutes or hours, it didn't matter, but Steve knew that every moment he didn't find Bucky it was a moment less likely he'd be able to save him.

And then in the white, he saw red.

Steve _ran. _

When he reached it, the breath left his lungs and the contents of his stomach burned up his throat and he doubled over, falling to his knees, vomiting.

Because there, lying in the snow, was Bucky's left arm.

The limb was torn right out of the socket and the fingers were scraped raw and bloody, as if Bucky had grabbed onto the cliff as he fell and tried to hold on, but the momentum of his descent tore the arm clean off, and from the place where the humerus connected to the shoulder socket there was _so much blood, _vibrant incarnadine blossomed out and soaked into the snow.

Steve looked up, wiping his mouth, and he stared at the arm for a moment, fighting down the urge to vomit up his stomach since it held no more contents, he slowly reached out and touched the skin of that hand.

It was cold, frozen, and felt so _dead. _

But if there was Bucky's arm, Bucky's body had to be here too, it had to...

There was no longer anything in Steve's stomach, and as he got to his feet and kept searching. He had to find Bucky, he _had_ to find him, _he had to..._

The hope that Bucky was alive got smaller and smaller with each step.

But Steve kept walking.

* * *

**So, this story could end here, and it could go unsaid that Steve never does find Bucky's body. **

**But the feels were killing me, so I wrote another chapter where Steve _does _find Bucky, and Bucky is still alive... so the next chapter is _very_ AU ;3**


	2. AU Continuation

Steve kept walking. He kept looking, kept _searching. _

He kept searching for his best friend, for his brother, for the one person he _could not lose_.

Bucky couldn't be dead. Steve _refused _to believe it.

And he remembered when they'd been staying at a military camp for a few days, and in regular military gear they'd gone to one of the showings of the news reels, had watched Captain America and Bucky and the Howling Commandos on screen.

And one of the soldiers watching had said, "Hey! _Hey!_ Best part! Cap's Partner, Bucky! Now, _there's_ a _hero_ for ya! No fancy indestructible shield! Nothin' but a _smile!"_

And another soldier had snorted and added, "And a _tommy gun."_

And the first soldier had persisted, "But what a _smile!"_

(And Steve couldn't help but agree.)

He kept searching, in part because he couldn't bear to accept the fact that Bucky was _gone, _but partly also because he knew, he _knew _that if he'd been the one to fall, Bucky would have searched for him until he found him.

Bucky would never give up on Steve. Bucky had _never _given up on Steve.

Bucky wasn't just Steve's partner. Bucky was his best friend, the most courageous soldier he ever knew. Without hesitation, Bucky had put his life on the line for America more than _anyone _ever had _(there was so, so much Bucky did for their country that nobody even knew about, that nobody ever would) _and he was _Steve's best friend _and Steve _would _save him.

He _would. _

By this time the cold was starting to seep even into the supersoldier's bones, and it was starting to snow harder.

Some part of Steve's mind, the part that was connected to reality and knew the horrors of war better than any man (except perhaps for Bucky) knew he was dreaming, knew he was grasping at false hope as he continued searching for Bucky, but another part of his mind, the part that sounded like a child, the part that had him picking himself off his feet every time he got beaten down and fighting back even though the other part of him knew he couldn't ever win, was _screaming _that Bucky was still alive that he _had _to be because Steve was still alive, right?

And Bucky couldn't be dead, because they'd promised that they'd go down together.

They'd _promised, _the child in Steve screamed.

"_I'm with you till the end of the line, pal." _

_They'd promised. Bucky had promised. Steve had promised. _

_And _dammit _Bucky was not allowed to die! __**He'd promised! **_

So when Steve saw the drag marks, the red smeared across the snow, his body flooded with adrenalin as his eyes traced the trail and he _ran, _because there in the distance he saw a couple dark figures and they were—_oh God they were dragging something._

* * *

Everything was awash with white, _blinding vivid pain_, as Bucky pried his eyes open to be greeted by yet more white.

His body, _burning (agony)_ as it was (everything except his left arm), he could vaguely tell he was being dragged across the ground, and since his left arm was the only thing that didn't hurt, he tried to move it.

When it didn't move, he managed to turn his head slightly to the left, and the sight that greeted him wasn't an arm, but rather the absence of an arm, and streaks of red blood in the snow.

Dizziness, and the white swam with black that writhed in his vision like electric eels, but he vaguely made out the forms of two people wearing dark parkas, and they were talking but try as he might to hear what they were saying he couldn't understand—

_They're speaking Russian, _a voice in his mind supplied. _You know Russian. _

I do? he thought vaguely, as the black eels bled into each other, vacillating like thousands of starlings.

And so he was just being dragged and staring up at the darkening sky, becoming aware of the fact that his mouth tasted of blood, just starting to dimly recall that _hadn't he fallen? _

That last thing he could remember... Steve's face scrunching up in horror, and the urge to wipe that expression from his friends face and replace it with Steve's sunny smile... falling, falling away from Steve, trying to grab on to something, and then _pain_ and _darkness. _

And then someone was shouting something—_English, _his mind supplied—and there was a blur of red, white and blue, and the men who were dragging him by his feet let go and ran.

"Bucky," said a voice, and suddenly Steve's face was in his vision.

"...Steve?" Bucky tried to asked, but all that bubbled from his throat was blood. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to keep looking at that face, but darkness was tugging on him like ocean waves, like a riptide, dragging him down into a sea of unconsciousness.

"It's okay, Buck, I've got you," were the last words he heard, and the last thing he felt was his body being lifted from the cold, hard ground.

* * *

"_Get a medical team ready!"_ Steve's voice suddenly crackled over the radio, causing the Howling Commandos to jump. _"I've found Bucky! He's alive!"_

They looked at each other.

"You think he's actually alive, or is he just hallucinating? Because I wouldn't put that past him at this point."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"But just in case: get a damn medical team ready!"

* * *

Steve ran as fast as he dare while trying to keep his stride even so as not to jostle Buck further. He'd stripped some fabric from Bucky's jacket in order to make a tourniquet for his shoulder, and it was the best he could do for now.

As he ran, he murmured under his breath, "Don't die on me Bucky, _please don't die on me._ You're not allowed to die, you got it? Live, dammit. That's an order!"

Bucky was unconscious and Steve knew he couldn't hear him, but still he talked, telling Bucky to just _hold on, he'd be alright. _

"Don't you dare die on me, Buck. Don't you _dare. _I can't... I can't lose you... not _you... I don't... I don't know what I'd do without you, Buck. _You hear me? Don't you _dare _die!"

And once, he thought he heard Bucky mumble something in his arms that sounded like, "Wouldn' dream of it, pal."

But maybe it was just the whispers of the wind.

* * *

**A few quotes from the comic in there. And yes, I'm leaving this here, because if I take it any farther I'm going to have to write how Bucky being alive would change the entire events of the movie, and I'm not sure that I want to dedicate myself to that story when I already have another Captain America chapter fic going... so currently this is the end, but depending on the response this gets I can't promise that I won't continue it (because half the time I think something's done I end up getting an idea and continuing it) ;3  
**

**But still, wanted to leave this with a hopeful ending so my heart wouldn't break. **

**Please review and let me know what you think! Any feelings? :'3 **


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